The Mascots Of Disneyworld
by WritingOpensTheWorld
Summary: When a string of Sherlock related murder victims turn up, Sherlock decides to take on a case which drags him to America, and to Disneyworld in Florida. Moriarty is not to blame, but who else could know all of this information? And John soon realises that having Sherlock near a theme park with small children may not be the best idea. Set after Sherlock's return.
1. Case

"John will you please get the door?" yelled Sherlock, his little amount of patience finally running out.

"I am slightly busy at the moment!" he yelled straight back from his room. It seemed like recently their patience for each other had reached a new low point and almost every day they had at least one shouting match. Sooner rather than later this would result in John punching him again and again. Of course Sherlock would know when this was happening and would try to stop him.

"John you are never busy. I on the other hand have many things occupying my mind at the moment, mainly the fact that there is a client at the door which you refuse to get!" he said back as John moved into the room.

"If it will shut you up, I will get the door," said John with a sigh. He highly doubted Sherlock would be quiet for long but a moment of peace for now was enough. However upon opening the door John knew this was not going to be a peaceful day. He had been around Sherlock to know that the man standing there was not from England, in this winter anyone with this tan couldn't be from around here. "Hello," said John looking around. The person standing there smiled and his teeth were blindingly white. He pushed past John and walked up the stairs. Sherlock was sitting in his normal chair waiting for him.

"If you are here to ask if I would be interested in doing a reality show than the answer is no," said Sherlock, though it was his attempt at humor it failed in John's eyes.

"I am here to employ your services on behalf of my employer. We have a large problem which we believe you may be able to help us with," began the man and Sherlock put up his hand.

"You summarize your problem quickly and leave out extra details," said Sherlock.

"I represent Disneyworld in Florida. We have been having some, um, problems to say the least. Some of our more well-known mascots have been murdered. The first one," he reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a group of photos, passing them to Sherlock, "was found with a phone in a pink case. We thought of it as natural cause and didn't think any of it until a second one turned up," Sherlock looked down at the photo. A copy of the London A to Z guide was sitting there. Sherlock looked closer at the photo before pulling out his portable magnifying glass. How he always had that on him John had no idea. Sherlock focused on the leg of the person and noticed a small tattoo. He looked back at the first body and it had exactly the same one in the same spot. A quick glance through the rest revealed the same tattoo on each body.

"And the third?" said Sherlock though he probably already knew the answer. John moved across to Sherlock and glanced at the photos. What Sherlock had been looking at baffled him but he did know what the strange element of the next body was.

"Wait, what is written on his back?" said John looking closer.

"If you fill in the four squares it spells I AM SHERLOCKED which was the code to Irene Adler's phone," murmured Sherlock just loud enough for John to hear. The fourth body had a shirt with a picture of the Hound of Baskerville on, the fifth a yellow spray paint smiley face.

"How did this person know about?" started John before pointing to the wall. Sherlock shrugged slightly, clearly not in the mood to talk.

"Then the last body," he reached inside his jacket and pulled out one more photo. Across his shirt was the website link to Sherlock's website. "Led us straight to you. From there we noticed parallels with other cases of yours. This kind of problem is something we cannot afford especially with our young clientele base. We will pay you whatever you wish and cover all costs you incur whilst investigating. We have a private jet fuelled and ready to go if you agree," the man moved to the doorway. Sherlock looked at the photos once more.

"It looks like you have an admirer," said John.

"You may want to pack," said Sherlock standing from his chair. "I suggest however you leave your jumpers here. It is summer there and boiling hot," John looked at Sherlock.

"What were you looking at with the magnifying glass?" asked John before leaving the room.

"A tattoo." Replied Sherlock.

"What did it say?" asked John quickly.

"I.O.U"


	2. Chapter 2

It had taken Sherlock no time to pack at all, he already knew everything he needed and what he did not have he could always buy. John on the other hand had taken longer than what most girls would. They were driven to the airport and very little conversation passed between the two. John knew when Sherlock was in his 'I am busy thinking about things more important than you' mind frame. Being a private plane they didn't have to pass through security, which made John even happier. This was helped by the fact that he knew there wouldn't be a lot of people on the plane. Sherlock and crowds, which he had learned from Supermarket shopping, simply did not go together.

"This way," said a man. He walked them out to the tarmac and onto the plane. "Take a seat wherever you wish. We are waiting on one passenger and then we will be taking off," Sherlock looked at John briefly.

"What?" asked John. Sherlock said nothing which irritated John further. Perhaps this plane ride was a bad idea. He could potentially strangle Sherlock well before they reached Florida. "What?" he said once more, this time irritation seeping into his voice.

"A little strange they are waiting for another passenger. You think that everyone would already be here ready to go. Unless they had a last minute addition. Which would explain the sweat that attendant just brushed from his brow," he nodded his head in the direction of an attendant. They moved into the plane, and John was shocked. It was exactly like all the private planes you saw in movies. Plush seating, televisions, and he could see a bedroom in the back. Sherlock on the other hand was not impressed, moved to the middle area and took a seat. John stood still for a bit longer. If he did sit by Sherlock that could only result in him receiving little to no sleep and dealing with Sherlock telling him the crews' life stories. If he did not sit by Sherlock however, Sherlock would be able to easily guess why. This would most likely annoy him for the rest of the journey. John decided one plane ride would be better than the entire trip and sat down relatively close to Sherlock, facing him from the other side of the plane. They both turned as someone stepped into the plane.

"Wait, hang on," started John before Sherlock started yelling.

"Oh for god's sake! Mycroft is sending you along isn't he? I do not need a babysitter!" if it was anyone else they might have slapped Sherlock but luckily they had been dealing with this for years.

"Nice to see you too Sherlock," said Greg Lestrade before moving into a seat.

"Greg, how are you?" asked John, in an attempt to get Sherlock to stop. It didn't work of course.

"Honestly! How much trouble does Mycroft think I get into?" Lestrade looked at Sherlock and raised an eyebrow. Though he didn't know the exact details of how Sherlock had faked his death, he knew Mycroft had helped.

"Your brother merely thought it might be useful for you to have another set of hands," Sherlock looked at him.

"Sherlock please don't," whispered John but it fell on deaf ears.

"And of course you were more than happy to say yes. What, with the trouble at home. You haven't been sleeping in the same bed as normal, so clearly you are having problems with the wife. It looks like you have been forced to sleep on the sofa for at least the past week if not longer. So a break for both you and your wife seemed like a fabulous idea, but you know the moment you get back you will be on the sofa again for not taking her with you. Running away from the problem Lestrade will not solve it. Not in your case anyway," John looked at Lestrade, who though he had a good poker face, could not stop his jaw dropping.

"You really are horrid sometimes Sherlock. Remember I can have you thrown in jail," he mentioned which resulted in a small smirk from John.

"Sherlock, not good," said John and Sherlock looked at him.

"If I knew it wouldn't please Mycroft to hear I was annoyed, I would call him right now. Oh and we are about to prepare to take off," said Sherlock just as an attendant appeared from another area of the plane.

"Gentlemen we are about to," Sherlock put his hand up to stop him.

"We already know thank you. It was rather obvious actually from the fact that," a glare from John shut Sherlock up. With Greg now here, despite him being Mycroft's spy, this plane ride stood a better chance at not crashing and burning in both a literal and metaphorical sense. Lestrade was still clearly upset about Sherlock's outburst, and Sherlock was annoyed at Mycroft. Looked like John might end up being the impartial judge in this. Though to be fair, Sherlock was out of line. He really would have to watch him closely whilst they were over in Florida, or else Sherlock might leave a path of destruction even Disney would not survive. There were no doubts in his mind Sherlock could solve this case, and probably quickly, but he did not like the fact that this murderer had been very specifically trying to draw Sherlock's attention. The last time someone paid this much attention was Moriarty and that ended badly for everyone involved. He prayed it was merely a coincidence but Sherlock's words that he had said once revealing he was still alive haunted him as the plane lifted off the runway.

There are no coincidences John. Not in life.


	3. Airplanes

Sherlock managed to remain silent for the first hour of the plane. This was twice as long as John thought he would last and three times as long as Lestrade thought. The smug smile on Sherlock's face suggested that he knew this.

"Sherlock what exactly are you investigating?" asked Lestrade. "Your brother did not bother to tell me," he said, earning a scowl from Sherlock. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the photos before passing them over to John. With a roll of his eyes John took them, undid his seatbelt and passed them to Lestrade. "What exactly am I looking at?" he asked, though moments later when Sherlock started his rant.

"5 bodies. All had jobs as prominent mascots at Disneyworld, Florida before they were killed. All a single stab wound to the chest," John was surprised at that, Sherlock had failed to mention that detail earlier. "Fatal as you can clearly see by the lack of breathing. First body had the phone from, as John would call it, 'A Study In Pink'. Their role was as a minor mascot. No family, no girlfriend. Worked for next to minimum wage and literally had no prospects for the future. Resorted to drugs and alcohol which he managed to hide from his employers," he took a breath and a drink of water. "This is the beginning of a pattern which we must presume our killer purposefully planned. Each victim afterwards had an item such as the pink phone or a message along the same lines. Each one had problems of some sort or another, family or drug or alcohol. With each victim however the mascot they acted as and their corresponding importance increased. An attempt to grab attention from Disney, force them to no doubt seek help, which of course they found with the last victim. The question now is they have got the notice they wanted, but will they continue the killing? Or will they start evolving in their technique? So many questions, yet all I have to answer them are photos. These idiots at Disney could have supplied me with slightly more material. Once we get there I might be able to solve this case. John, if I were you I would eat now as well as sleep. We will not be resting upon arrival," Sherlock finally stopped. He needed to learn how to disconnect his mind from his mouth.

"May I get you gentlemen anything?" said a steward, who Sherlock knew was the head steward immediately.

"John will have a whiskey, only a small one though. Lestrade on the other hand in an attempt to drown out what I said before will have a large one. I shall settle for a glass of water. I need to keep my mind sharp," Sherlock stood from his seat and wonder around the plane slightly, his facial expression showing he was in his 'mind palace'. John could wonder which corridor he might be turning down now, which room he would be entering. No doubt the room whatever it was would be enormous and have many hidden areas within it, and the information would be organized in a way only Sherlock himself could understand. The steward quickly returned with their drinks and John noticed Lestrade down his glass in one large gulp. John took a single sip of the whiskey, you could tell how expensive it was. The glass it was served in cost more money than John had in his bank account.

"So Greg, how busy is the department? Can they afford to let you go for however long this takes?" asked John.

"The department is relatively busy, but can easily manage without him. Of course Donovan and Anderson will love having you gone. Much easier to continue their affair in the office," said Sherlock as he had a drink of water. Lestrade chocked slightly. John knew, Sherlock had alluded to it the night of the Study in Pink murder. But at the time Lestrade had been inside, out of earshot. Even then though, John thought he should have guessed. It was next to blindingly obvious. John stood up and moved to the seat by Lestrade.

"He is happy to have you here, no matter what he says. And I personally am feeling lucky. Now I don't have to spend the whole trip alone with him," he said in a low voice, trying to avoid Sherlock's radar.

"I heard that," said Sherlock, though he had pulled out his laptop and was busy.

"What are you doing Sherlock?" asked Lestrade.

"Research," replied Sherlock, his eyes scanning across the screen. "Layout of the park, employee database," he smiled. "Interesting," he murmured and looked briefly at Sherlock and John. "There are quite a few Disney employees who should be in rehabilitation. If our killer continues to follow her pattern than they have a lot of options to choose from," John moved back to his seat.

"Her?" he asked.

"Obviously," replied Sherlock, his eyes once more scanning the screens.

"Obviously," mockingly murmured both Lestrade and John at the same time.


	4. Chapter 4

The plane landed on the private strip of tarmac with ease. This was everyone's first time in Florida as far as John knew. Lestrade he was fairly sure about, but Sherlock was always an unknown element no matter what the equation. A flight attendant came in to tell them they were now to disembark.

"As if it weren't already obvious," muttered Sherlock just loud enough for the attendant to hear. John glared at him once more, but his glares seemed to be losing effectiveness. They grabbed their luggage, passed it to an attendant and stepped off the plane. As John stepped off he was immediately shocked by the intense heat that passed over him. He quickly pulled off his beige woolen jumper and carried it in his hand. He watched as Lestrade got off, taking off his suit jacket. Of course Sherlock was in the middle of tying his scarf around his neck, his coat already on. When he stepped into the air he simply tied the scarf tight, like the heat did not affect him. John sighed as he walked over to them. "Right," said Sherlock walking past them. "Let's go catch us a serial killer. Love those," he said as he sped up. John and Lestrade looked at each other briefly before running to catch up. As they had been told a car was waiting to take them to the resort. Sherlock jumped into the car, sitting as far as possible from all the other possible seats. John got the message and he and Lestrade sat right at the back of the unnecessarily large car.

"What I'm interested in," started Lestrade as he did the seatbelt up. "Is why someone would go to all this trouble for him," he said pointing a finger in Sherlock. "I mean, it isn't necessarily hard to get his attention. Just do something that no one else will ever be able to solve and you will have his attention," at this point Sherlock raised his head and looked over at them.

"Because they wanted to ensure they had my attention. Why do something like this and make little effort and run the risk of not achieving your goal? No, this person is clever and also attention seeking. Their style, execution and craving for attention all remind me of Moriarty," Lestrade and John both cringed at the sound of his name. He may be dead, but his legacy had come back to bite Sherlock more than once.

"So could it be someone who worked with Moriarty?" asked John and Sherlock nodded.

"My thoughts exactly John. Very perceptive of you," said Sherlock before toning them out. John couldn't quite tell if he was being sarcastic or honest, though he was leaning more towards the first option. With Sherlock it was normally the first option. "Though this person has an intimate knowledge of cases. No one knew that Irene existed, let alone the code to her phone was I AM SHERLOCKED. That is the only detail that suggests this though, the rest could pretty much be collected from your blog John, or police reports and the smiley face from the media of course. The yellow suggests they have seen inside our flat though," at this John cringed. It wouldn't have been the first time someone had broken into the flat. "But the tattoo all of them had, that was done either literally just before or straight after their death. I.O.U. Moriarty continually reminded me of that. He carved it into an apple, painted it on walls and I know why. This woman must also know about it, giving the likeliness of her being a work associate of Moriarty even higher credibility," Sherlock leaned forward in his seat. The car started to speed up, they must be near a motorway. Sherlock sighed his mind running at a million miles an hour. There was so many possibilities, so many scenarios and nowhere near enough evidence to figure out which one was right. Which one, no matter how unbelievable, was the solution to this puzzle. Sherlock knew that during this trip he would not be bored. Not at all.


	5. Chapter 5

Night had begun its descent as the car pulled up to the back entrance of the hotel at Disneyworld. Sherlock only just waited for the car to stop before he bounded out.

"So much to do," he murmured as he looked around. John and Lestrade followed him after the car had parked. A bellhop rushed to grab their luggage, and a woman with blonde hair from inside came to greet them.

"Hello, my name is…" started the woman.

"Irrelevant," finished Sherlock, before moving past her and into the back entrance. John moved over to the woman, whose face held a look of shock.

"Sorry about him," he mumbled. "I'm John, that is Lestrade." Lestrade stuck a hand up in the air. "And the man with a complete lack of social grace is Sherlock," the woman suddenly understood.

"Ah the great Sherlock Holmes. We were all warned that he might be slightly hard to accommodate," said the woman and Lestrade sniggered in the background. "I'm Renee Daril. I am here to help you with your investigation; anything you require just let me know," she walked inside.

"I'm sorry but have you ever worked in London? I get the strangest feeling I know you from somewhere," asked John. Renee turned.

"No, I haven't." she sharply replied, in a tone you wouldn't normally expect from someone in the hospitality business. "I will have an attendant show you up to your rooms, all three of you have been placed in adjacent rooms, and Mr Holmes has been set up with equipment that he requested. Anything else you require just let us know and we will make sure it happens," Renee walked away as a man walked over to escort them up to their rooms. After their luggage had been brought up, John and Lestrade both agreed to check on Sherlock, although Lestrade took persuading. John cautiously reached up this hand to the door and knocked.

Once.

Twice.

And finally a third time.

A muffled noise, which vaguely sounded like come in, came through the door. John reached for the door handle and they stepped in. Sherlock's room was clearly more expensive than theirs, and the space alone was double the size of their flat.

"This is amazing," said John. Sherlock had already added his touch, the entire dining room table and kitchen bench tops had what looked to be expensive science gear spread across them. John was almost certain that if you opened the fridge there would be body parts and no milk.

"So, tomorrow we need to get up early. First the crime scenes, because there is undoubtedly stuff they missed, then the mortuary. They are transferring all evidence here and it should be here by midday. Now in regards to dinner, I am not interested so you two can go," Sherlock moved across to paper that he had lain out on the coffee table.

"Alright then," said John. "Do you want anything delivered or any help?" Sherlock didn't bother looking up. John and Lestrade moved out and closed the door with a bang behind them. He quickly sat up straight on the couch and reached for the phone that sat beside him. With a brief moment of hesitation he dialed the number on a note beside it. After three tones someone picked up.

"Hello," he said.

"The art of disguise is hiding in plain sight Mr Holmes," said a female voice before hanging up. Sherlock grinned slightly. He looked back at the paper on the coffee table. He had them pull each victim's file, and their entire life story sat before him. Nothing he hadn't already known of course, but it was interesting to see what the police and everyone else had failed to notice. This serial killer was interesting to say the least. The feminine touch of each murder was obvious, not to mention the fact that a lot of the employees had family issues suggesting a compassionate motive. They were people who would only be missed for a short amount of time, and the world would probably be a better place without them. This along with the almost elegant touch that most of the murders had all pointed towards a female killer. The tattoo itself was enough to confirm this for Sherlock, it had clearly been done by a female hand.

Victim Number One. A man by the name of Jonathan Rose. Killed by a single stab wound to the chest, same as all the others. His was entered at a straight plunge, most likely he had been drugged and killed whilst unconscious. A quick flip through the toxicology report confirmed Sherlock's suspicions. Had held the role of both Tweedle Dum and Dee. The idea made Sherlock laugh. He had a major drug addiction problem, at a guess Cocaine was his weakness. Girlfriends had all dumped him and the longest relationship he had ever had was with his job.

Victim Number Two. Another man, this time called Alex Doyle. His angle of stabbing was tilted, at about a 25 degree angle. No interesting drugs turned up his system, though copious amounts of alcohol were present. He ranked higher on the Disney character list, as Aladdin. Previous run ins with the law included intoxicated whilst driving and one account of domestic violence against his wife, though now she was a widow. His looks and olive skin tone made him perfect at his job, perhaps why Disney overlooked these criminal offences.

Victim Number Three. Every element of their death was identical to the previous one, even right down to the angle of the knife. However this one was a female, by the name of Ella Fraser. No alcohol, no drugs however there was an outstanding charge for accomplice to manslaughter that was due to go to court in just under a month. Being the first female death, this proved that the killer wasn't just getting revenge for what some guy had done to her; otherwise all the victims would have been male. Worked as Jasmine, which suggests that she knew the previous victim.

Victim Number Four. Another male, called George Heron. This knife wound was like the first one, straight in. Out of all the victims this one was the one who most deserved it. There were over ten records of his wife being admitted to hospital due to intense beating, however they never could get charges to stick. Drugs and alcohol both present in his system. No kids, probably for the better. Was a villain in the parades, though which one often changed.

Victim Number Five. Back to female. Tayla Sherrin. Her knife wound showed that the blade had been entered with less precision. Low level drugs present and alcohol. Her husband and her were in the process of a divorce. Her most notable role was as Princess Cinderella.

And finally we reach Victim Number Six. Male, Sean Caster. The knife had also hastily been thrust in this time, the killer almost seemed to be getting careless. His wife was a missing person, had been for three years. However police suspected that a burnt and mangled corpse they had found was actually his wife. Again though, they couldn't prove that it was her or that he had anything to do with it. They had clearly been going for big impact here, and had killed one of the guys who was Mickey Mouse.

So. They were dealing with a serial killer with a moral compass. Sherlock smiled, and stood from the couch before moving to the window. Tomorrow was going to be enjoyable.


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock was awake at the same time the sun rose. Of course, being his flatmate John had adjusted to this and was awake less than half an hour later. Lestrade on the other struggled to keep up with Sherlock on London soil in the middle of the day. This early in the morning? Well, it gave him a headache just thinking about it.

"If you aren't up," started John as he unlocked the door. "Sherlock will just leave without you. I learnt that lesson the hard way, and let's just say it involved four buses and a train. I'll see you in the lobby," he opened the door and stepped out. With a sigh Lestrade collapsed back onto his bed.

Sherlock was already well dressed and had eaten a piece of bread, even that was more than normal, when a knock at the door sounded. A quick glance at his watch and Sherlock automatically became suspicious. They may be overseas, but he and John had a routine sorted out and unless Sherlock was in the middle of a three patch problem case that never changed. He glanced through the peephole out the door and grinned. He wondered how long it her to come up to his room and say hello, it wasn't hard to spot her when they first arrived, her appearance was hardly conspicuous. Sherlock opened the door and closed it just as quickly once the person had walked inside. Although she was on the run, technically, from every agency across the world them thinking she was dead made it easier for her.

"Hello Ms Adler," said Sherlock, as he moved to pour two cups of tea.

"Mr Sherlock Holmes," she responded in the exact same way she had said it the first time they had met.

"What brings you to Orlando?" he asked.

"Well I could ask you the same question, but I am almost positive we both know the answers to each other's questions," she accepted her cup from Sherlock and they sat on opposite couches.

"Go on," he said.

"Oh no, this is the part where you get to show me your little trick," she teased and Sherlock placed the cup of tea on its saucer before placing it down on the coffee table.

"You are here because of the murders. You drew that same conclusion I did, that it is an ex-associate of Moriarty, and that is a problem you are hoping I can solve for you, as I always seem to do. Unless you intend to tell exactly why you are here the door is right over there," he picked up his cup of tea once more.

"Oh fine," she said. "Do be a bore then. I haven't seen you for years all I wanted was to catch up with my old friend. I suppose you never enjoyed small talk," Irene stood. "The person you are looking for, the female you are looking for, is I believe the person who Moriarty hired with a single purpose in mind. When you popped up on his radar, of course he did not think enough of you to personally manage you. Moriarty was a spider at the center of a web, and you were assigned to someone that was close to the center but not of too great concern. It wasn't until a bit later Moriarty took you as a personal, for the sake of this shall we say, case. He assigned you to woman, I don't know her name but her reputation refers to her as The Fly, befitting for someone who worked for a spider. Moriarty's obsession with you was nothing, is nothing, when compared to hers. She spent hours every day tracking your movements, actions, interactions. I think Moriarty was especially proud of her, she was his spy up high," Sherlock looked at Irene.

"What detail are you leaving out?" he asked crudely.

"John has met her. I believe the name she gave him was Anthea. She works for your dear brother," Sherlock leaned back in his seat, not missing the slight smile of mischief that flashed across Irene's face. "Well I should rephrase. She worked for Mycroft. I believe she 'retired' seven months ago, at which point you reappeared. Her actual name I don't know, but I have no doubt you will find out," Irene stood from the couch and placed her cup of tea down on the coffee table. "Have fun my dear Sherlock, and I do hope to see you soon," she walked over to the door and turned back to face Sherlock as he stood. "Good luck," and with that she was gone. Sherlock sighed and picked up both cups, moving them to the bench. This time the knock was John's distinctive one-two and Sherlock moved to the door to open it. John came in, looking ready to bound out the door.

"Hello John," said Sherlock. John moved inside. The teacups caught his eye, but he knew better to question Sherlock. "Give me one second," said Sherlock, who ran to grab his scarf and coat, despite the temperature being far too high to wear that. They moved outside and a flustered Lestrade stumbled out the door. "Your shirt is inside out, but don't worry I'm sure no one will notice," said Sherlock as he walked down the corridor. John quickly made sure Lestrade wasn't going to kill Sherlock before they all got in an elevator. Something was wrong. The moment they reached the ground floor the distant squeal of sirens could be heard, and there was screaming. Sherlock rushed through the crowds, a talent he was exceptionally gifted at. A woman's body lay on the floor. It took John a moment to realize who it was.

"Isn't that Renee Daril, the girl who greeted us yesterday?" said John to Lestrade.

"No," said Sherlock who already had his hand checking her pulse. "That is Irene Adler, and this time she is most certainly dead."


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock had the body quickly moved away from the prying eyes of the public. Paparazzi still followed him occasionally, but being on foreign soil helped the situation. Looking at Irene lying on the steel slab, he felt pity. She didn't deserve this, well she did, but he didn't see it for her. Everyone had left him alone for a while. And though he didn't think he knew, John was pacing outside the room, checking in to make sure he was alright. Lestrade at a guess was sitting in the waiting room, reading a magazine offering relationship help.

He stopped.

Sherlock moved to sit in one of the seats. His mind never stopped, never. He could think through day and night, and sometimes never sleep. John may have thought of his mind as a gift, but it had its downsides.

"_I'd stay away from him Lily," said one of the boys whose name I didn't know. Was it James? I struggled to remember. "He's a weird kid, you don't want to be near him," he continued, scowling at me. "Even our teacher hates him. No one likes Smarty Party Sherlock."_

An isolated life. Sherlock could consider few to be friends, and barely any more cared about him. When you knew next to everything about everyone before they spoke, well it annoyed them to say the least. He had learned to deal with those who said he was a freak, a weirdo. Not only were their IQs considerably lower, but they never seemed to go too far in life. His brother may be the one in the spying business but Sherlock knew how to overhear a conversation.

"_My brother has the brain of a scientist or a philosopher and yet he elects to be a detective. What might we deduce about his heart?"_

Sherlock ignored his heart. Sentiment was a weakness, as proved time and time again. And it was better that way.

_I wandered through the now empty playground. The children, my classmates long disappeared due to the sharp ringing of the bell. Sure, I would get in trouble for missing class but what was the point? The teachers couldn't teach me anything I didn't know without ignoring the rest of the class completely. If only I had been allowed to skip a couple of levels like the school recommended. Though then I might be in the same class as Mycroft, not too pleasing a prospect. Instead I struggled through. The teacher gave up one me long ago, just let me read in the corner. And I found the empty playground a perfect place to sit and think. Just think._

Sherlock turned towards Irene once more. The cause of death was easy enough to spot by the needle mark in her neck. Whatever the syringe had been filled with had delivered her a quick and painless death. That was a remote comfort. The questions were who, when and why. When, well at a guess soon after she had left Sherlock's room. If they had got her when she came out of the elevator, as they were walking in, well she would have noticed but what could she do? Sherlock ran his hand over the contents of both her handbag and room in the hotel. There was little. A phone, a wallet (fake identity of course), lipstick in various shades (including blood red) and a few miscellaneous clothes. Nothing revealing, though he did recognize the lipstick. Toxicology reports would list her killer, or if he waited long enough he would see defining characters of different poisons. But why waste time when the report would give exact quantities. He lifted the sheet to cover her head and said his goodbyes. Before opening the door, he straightened his coat and tied his scarf tight. The moment he stepped out John rushed to meet him.

"I am fine John," said Sherlock. He walked towards the door. The Disney representative stood there. "I need a copy of the coroner's report as soon as it is available," he said and the man nodded. Sherlock stepped out into the open air, the warm breeze barely affecting him. Three steps out though he stopped, John and Lestrade bumped into each other. "That is potentially the worst hiding spot I have ever seen you use," said Sherlock. John and Lestrade looked around but failed to find whoever was talking to.

"Sherlock, who are you?" started John, but was swiftly stopped by Sherlock raising his hand.

"Honestly for someone who runs the British Secret Service you think you would have developed the skill of stealth Mycroft," mocked Sherlock. They all turned as he emerged from the bushes.

"Well, considering the turn of events, I thought it prudent to come and oversee this investigation myself. I can't have you causing an international incident, although that is slightly too late," he said.

"Sorry Mycroft, I have work to do. You know how it is with me and my cases. Nice seeing you though," Sherlock made the move to walk past him but Mycroft quickly grabbed his arm.

"I shall presume you knew nothing of Irene Adler and her once more faked death," whispered Mycroft.

"Why brother dearest, didn't you say it would take Sherlock Holmes to fool you?" responded Sherlock with a smirk. He began to walk away, and John hurried to follow. "By the way, your assistant shall we say, is a serial killer. I would congratulate you on hiring reliable staff, but I suppose it goes without saying," Sherlock yelled out.

"Keep a close eye on them. Report back to me with everything you hear. This is bigger than him, and I will not let him ruin everything," said Mycroft. Lestrade looked at him briefly.

"Why don't you do it yourself now that you are here?" suggested Lestrade as nicely as possible.

"Because my brother will never listen to me. And that in this instance may be his downfall. And we all know what happens when Sherlock suffers from one of his falls."


End file.
